The TimeyWimey Games
by Mint Pearl Voice
Summary: How River Song and the Doctor won the 73rd and 78th Hunger Games, respectively. River/11.


Funny, though. She'd expected to feel scared. Terrified, even. Instead, there's just a blank, empty acceptance.

That's what you get for taking out enough tesserae to feed everyone at the Community home.

"You'll definitely kill the first three of them," John Smith, better known as the Doctor, jokes lamely.

River shakes her head, and her curls, extra-springy for Reaping Day, bounce. "Oh, the first seven, easy."

"Seven? Really?"

She winks at him, feigning confidence."Eight for you. "

A smile ghosts across his lips, and River finishes changing her mind: screw mercy. If I have to, I'll kill all of them.

"Take this." He presses something into her hand. It's a piece of clear grey plastic, the edges scratched, a scrap of fabric strung through a hole.

She looks up. "Your father's screwdriver?"

"Yeah. Least I could do for my oldest friend, you taking out all those tesserae like that." He bites his lip. "River, I-"

And then the Peacekeepers arrive.

"It's okay, it's not over. You'll see me again," River calls after him. "I promise I'll come home."

The Doctor grins, that mad, manic, intoxicating grin. "I know!"

"When I grow up, I want to be an archaeologist. " Leaning in, she adds: "And I _do_ plan on growing up."

The crowd laughs, and River's audacity swells. Abruptly, an idea pops into her head. He'd play along, but would he forgive her? She's doomed anyway- might as well gamble everything. "There's a boy back home… we've grown up together. He's younger than me, and sometimes he can be a bit of an idiot- I don't know what he'd do without me, and he's impossible and clever and challenging. And I like that." She winks at the nearest camera. "Sweetie- marry me?"

The arena is desolate, cold, and barren of resources, even within the Cornucopia. No stars shine from the artificial sky; after the Cornucopia, red dust has caked under her fingernails. Someone else's blood mats River's curls; crouching on top of a boulder, she examines her slingshot. The glassy black rocks scattered around the arena will make excellent projectiles. Three days, she thinks. That's how long you can survive without water, and three weeks without food. But thirst kills faster.

She'll have to kill her opponents even faster than that.

No remorse, River. No mercy. Remember, you promised you'd come home. She bends down, loads a rock into her slingshot, fires-

Near the Cornucopia, a slight twelve-year-old boy- her district partner, Proper Dave- falls, clutching his head. River can just make out the shards of rock embedded in his wound.

She's killed her own District partner- what kind of monster does that?

-and breathes out.

The next several lifetimes are a blur of orange-red dust and dark-red blood. Shadows swirl oddly under the lightless synthetic sky.

River Song kills.

She uses her slingshot when she can. It's less dangerous, the part of her not consumed by mindless violence observes clinically. A pack of Careers ambush her near the swamp's edge.

"Look, it's Blondie!"

Perhaps if she stays still enough, they'll think she's already dead, or nearly so, and go away. Despite what she told the Doctor, she'd rather not have to kill all of the other Tributes. (Or any of them- but it's lifetimes too late for that.)

A spear pokes the back of her shoulder. "Hey, Blondie. Any last words?"

"Funny," River says, "that's exactly what I was going to ask you." Instincts kick in. She spins around, grabs the spear, and shoves it into its erstwhile owner's eye. Things go uphill from there.

"Mercy," the girl from District 3 begs. She's tiny, hardly looks twelve. "Mercy, please-"

"I'm sorry," River lies, and drives the spear into little Melody's heart.

And the 73rd Hunger Games end.

Apparently she wore silver for the closing interview. The prep team didn't know what to do with her- they'd never had a District 8 victor before- so they just fussed over her as if that would make up for it, twining stardust into her curls. She flirts on autopilot, giggles at her kills. It's more of a "what have I done?" giggle than anything else, but the Capitol eats it up nevertheless.

River steps from the train, and never before has the Doctor felt their age difference so keenly. Her eyes look so old, so full of all that she's endured; in comparison, he feels incredibly young.

"Hello," he says, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She flinches, but doesn't back away. "Hello, sweetie."

They sit in what passes for a park in District 8; a bench and a withered tree on a tiny square of grass, tucked away on a side street where it won't impair productivity.

"River?"

"Yeah?"

"When you said you'd marry me- did you mean it? Or was it just an act?"

She smiles enigmatically, not quite looking at him. Oh, he's still the same Doctor, still maddening and wonderful and impossible, but she's changed so much. "Yes."

"Yes to the first one or yes to the second? Because I'm fine either way. Whatever you want to do, it's fine with me. I'm fine. This is me, being totally and utterly fine."

Faking another smile, she moves to stand. "They want to interview me. 'A tour of District 8-" She swallows, laughing a little, and a tear rolls onto her cheek.

"River, this is important, that can wait." Seizing her hand, he pulls her close. Insanity? Bravery? He can't quite tell. "I forgive you, River. No matter what you've done, no matter who you've killed, I forgive you."

It isn't how he imagined their first kiss. He's still shorter than her, and she's still half-crying, but it's still River and it's still a kiss. Pulling away, he smiles, hoping that she'll smile back. "Well?"

"Yes," River says, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. For a moment, she looks like her old self again.

Then she kisses him back.


End file.
